


To Ready Your Eyes

by rodabonor



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Rimming, Top Will Graham, trauma aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:15:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25356112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rodabonor/pseuds/rodabonor
Summary: Will searches the near-dark quickly. It’s a small room, not many places to hide. The image of Hannibal’s slack face comes back to him and he feels the first stir of panic at the same time as he spots a pale hand sticking out from under the bed, moonlit fingers curled into a loose fist.Will and Hannibal are staying at a motel after the fall. Will can't sleep and takes a walk, and when he comes back, Hannibal is gone.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 23
Kudos: 307





	To Ready Your Eyes

Will’s cheek aches around his stitches. The painkillers have worn off and the dark motel room seems to be closing in on him, trapping him within sweat-damp sheets and musty darkness. Hannibal is stretched out beside him like a corpse on an autopsy table, knocked out cold by opioids. It’s the barely-there rise and fall of his chest that finally chases Will out of bed around midnight. He leaves the room to take a walk around the area, and when he comes back, Hannibal is nowhere to be found.

Will searches the near-dark quickly. It’s a small room, not many places to hide. The image of Hannibal’s slack face comes back to him and he feels the first stir of panic at the same time as he spots a pale hand sticking out from under the bed, moonlit fingers curled into a loose fist.

Crouching beside the bed, Will bends his neck and searches the carpeted floor. To his surprise, he finds the familiar outline of Hannibal, tucked against the far wall. Fear grips him by the throat and he has the nonsensical thought that Hannibal is dead, that he dragged himself there and shriveled up like a spider in its death throes. Then he sees the gentle movement of his shoulders, brought up and down by even breaths.

It doesn’t make any sense. Will doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what to do either, but he knows he can’t leave him there. After a moment’s consideration, he straightens and calls Hannibal’s name. First softly, voice barely rising above a whisper. Then louder.

Hannibal’s hand spasms. Then it draws back quickly and disappears under the bed. There’s a chain of quick, uneven breaths, and understanding finally forms in Will’s head.

Will still doesn’t know what happened to Hannibal and his sister, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need to know the specifics to know that at some point, Hannibal had been forced to hide. He doesn’t want to think about what might have happened once he was found.

“It’s me,” Will says. “It’s Will. You’re safe. You can come back out.”

For a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence. Then Will sees a dark shape slink from under the bed like a childhood nightmare. Hannibal moves slowly, slightly crouched, as though he’s in pain. He might be; he won’t take enough painkillers to fully dull it, Will knows, and the space beneath the bed is cramped.

Will turns on the bedside lamp, just to know what he’s faced with. Hannibal stands tall and hollow-eyed before him, dressed in nothing but his underwear. There are dust bunnies in his hair. Will sits down on the edge of the bed and waits for Hannibal to do the same before he reaches out and brushes them away with his fingers, sweeping a couple of flyaways out of his face.

“I woke up and you were gone,” Hannibal says.

“Just needed some fresh air,” Will says. “My cheek is killing me.”

“You’re due for another dose in an hour.” They don’t have a watch nearby. Will doesn’t ask how he knows the time.

“How about you?” Will asks instead. “Are you in pain? Did you—have a nightmare?”

Hannibal falls quiet. He looks down into his lap, making his lashes fan elegantly beneath his eyes. Will can’t stop looking; it’s the perverse desire to see Hannibal in pain, to see him at his most vulnerable, even though it makes Will uncomfortable too.

“Does it pain you?” Hannibal suddenly asks. Will tilts his head to the side, feeling as though Hannibal just read his mind.

“Does what pain me, Hannibal?”

“Finding it beautiful.” He doesn’t need to specify. “You plunged us to our deaths at the admission.”

“You… assume there was more coherent thought behind my actions than there truly was. It was nothing I could or would have planned for.”

“Half-truths and obfuscations.” Hannibal’s gaze lowers again. “By now I would have thought such things are better left behind us.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He doesn’t know if he wants to give Hannibal the satisfaction, even if he did know.

“Never mind. Think nothing of it.” Hannibal stands again, pulling himself upright in one slow, aching motion. Will is at a loss, but he is on his feet and following Hannibal before he has consciously decided to.

“I found it beautiful and I wanted us to be together,” Will says. “I can’t pretend there are any other rationalizations. That’s the closest I can get.”

“Then it simply goes to show you lie to yourself as much as you lie to me.”

“Are we really going to talk about lying? Lies were the foundation of our involvement from the very beginning, thanks to you.”

“My long-term ambition was to unveil the truth. To ready your eyes.”

“Don’t give me that.” Will shakes his head, resisting a sigh. “You seem to think your motives are always… clear to me, somehow. That I’m capable of deconstructing everyday life like a crime scene. I’m not, especially when your motives aren’t even that clear to you.” 

Hannibal kisses him. It’s quick, almost too quick to register; one moment Hannibal is watching him with dark, somber eyes, the next he’s tipped forward, lips brushing against Will’s. It lasts less than a second, so brief Will barely feels it at all.

“Clear enough?” Hannibal asks in a light tone hiding ire. Will feels rooted to the spot. It’s instinct that makes him pull Hannibal closer, but he still hesitates once his mouth is close enough to kiss. It isn’t until Hannibal’s eyes slide shut that Will bridges the gap between them, crushing their lips together, feeling the nauseating clip of butterfly wings in his belly as Hannibal lets him steer him towards the bed.

He can barely feel his cheek at all, now. The pain has been muted, like everything else that falls beyond the circle of sensation their bodies create.

Hannibal yields for him so easily, sinking like a heart into the stiff motel mattress, legs parting and arms falling to the side. Will barely has to touch him at all. When his fingers make their way between his legs, there is none of the resistance Will expected to find, only dry heat that pulses around him like a heartbeat. 

_I could fuck him dry_ , Will thinks. It’s a thought he’s never had about anyone before. It would hurt, not just for Hannibal, but they’ve suffered worse together. Despite everything, that’s not the experience Will wants for them. 

Letting his fingers slip free, Will places both hands on the back of Hannibal’s thighs, framing his opening with his hands. It’s small and dark pink, a little reddened from Will’s touch. Will leans in and traces it with his tongue, kissing it like his mouth, with just as much force and tenderness. The soap they picked up from a supermarket is permeating his skin, and it strikes Will as almost touching; it’s so human. Sweat and cheap soap. The mental image of Hannibal’s broad yet delicate hands scrubbing travel dust off his skin.

Hannibal makes a soft, surprised sound, shifting slightly beneath him as Will keeps licking broad stripes across his hole. When he looks down at Will his eyes are so wide, and he’s so still it looks like he’s holding his breath.

“Do you want me to stop?” Will asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Hannibal shakes his head slowly. “Have you done this before?” Will pushes, because he can’t help it.

“I’ve had few sexual partners,” Hannibal says, sounding vacant. It’s as close as Will figures he will get to a straight answer. The implications make him soften, make him rub his thumb more gently across his hole. It’s slicker now, though maybe not quite enough. He doesn’t think Hannibal will mind.

Will doesn’t ask and he doesn’t tell Hannibal that he’s going to fuck him. He just leans down to kiss him, and Hannibal opens up for him again, legs falling limp to the side. Will grabs one of the pillows and bunches it up under Hannibal’s back, then he sinks down, sinks in, slowly pushing his way inside the tight heat of Hannibal’s body. 

An unsteady breath leaves Hannibal’s lips. Will’s breath is caught in his throat. It feels so perfect, so utterly perfect being inside him this way, and he puts his hands around Hannibal’s face to keep their gazes aligned; like stars, like a line of fire. Then he rolls his hips, and Hannibal moans. It’s so loud in the quiet of the room, almost startling, and it sends a jolt of heat through Will’s core. 

“Hannibal,” he murmurs, feeling a sudden swell of fondness that weighs his heart down towards Hannibal’s body. Their chests line up as he keeps moving, growing bolder, tugging on Hannibal’s hips to get him where he needs him. The sounds Hannibal makes are maddening, breathy moans and hissing noises that make his upper lip curl, and Will can’t help but lick a messy line across his small, uneven teeth, biting his plush lower lip hard enough to hear him draw a sharp breath. Abruptly, he wants to consume him; a desire that doesn’t seem to be mirrored, this time, but wholly his own.

Hannibal, on the other hand, does nothing but hold onto him, tilting his hips up, offering everything of himself for Will to take. He only falters when Will rolls over, bringing Hannibal with him so he’s seated on top of him with his legs on either side of his hips. 

His eyes are still so wide. They don’t look entirely like his own, too full of quiet wonder, almost confused. Like he just woke up after a fever broke. He easily falls back into the rhythm Will set, but it’s too mechanical, not all there.

Will sits up, holding onto his hips a touch too harshly. “Don’t stop now,” he says, surprising himself with the thickness of his voice. “Don’t be unsure. Not with this, not after everything.”

Hannibal’s hand curls into a fist where it’s braced on Will’s chest. “I’m not.”

“I feel like—like you were just letting it happen. And now—”

“I want to be what you want, this once.”

Will shakes his head. “I just want you.”

At that, Hannibal’s posture finally relaxes, movements growing fluid, more assertive. Will holds his waist in a tight grip, nuzzling his chest, burying his face in coarse, greying chest hair. He seeks out Hannibal’s nipples with his mouth, sucking and teasing with the fine point of his tongue, and Hannibal won’t stop squirming, won’t stop making soft, breathy noises, reactions so honest they strike Will as almost child-like. It’s nothing like what he expected. Nothing about Hannibal here is anything like what he expected.

Will puts his hand on Hannibal’s cock, hard and red and slick from precome, just because he wants to feel, and Hannibal stumbles on a moan, head tipping back to bare the long line of his throat. He’s so beautiful, so perfect Will feels like he’s losing his mind. He wants him to have everything. Anything. 

“ _Aah_ —” Hannibal gives a cut-off moan, moving mindlessly, helplessly, between Will’s hand and his cock. Will keeps touching him, not stopping until Hannibal’s eyes seem to glaze over and his cock pulses in Will’s hand, his orgasm pouring out of him along with little gasps and moans. 

On impulse, Will brings his soiled hand up to Hannibal’s mouth. He watches, entranced, as Hannibal licks it clean without hesitation, eyes still bright behind the sheen of fulfilled desire. 

Will can’t take it anymore. He pushes Hannibal down to his back again, holding onto the headboard with his good arm, using it as leverage to fuck him so hard and fast the bed moves, scraping across the floor. It’s such an unnecessary risk, so stupid to draw any kind of attention to themselves at this point, but he can’t help it. It feels like nothing matters beyond what they’re doing right now. 

“Will,” Hannibal says, breathlessly, lips pressing together in a tight line. Maybe it hurts, even though Will is trying to keep his weight off of Hannibal’s wound. Maybe there’s no way this wouldn’t hurt, at least a little bit.

When Will finally comes, it hits him so hard the impact seems blinding. He breathes harshly through it, uncaring about the sharp pain in his cheek when his snarl pulls on his stitches. He gradually becomes aware of Hannibal’s hands cradling his face and lets himself grow heavy, slowly pulling out and lying down next to him. He can’t stop touching, even now that they’ve both come. Hannibal seems to feel the same, gently following the shape of Will’s various scars with his fingertips, eyes soft and dark.

“Will you tell me about earlier tonight?” Will asks. “What you were hiding from. What found you before I did.”

“Only a nightmare.” Hannibal lets his hands drop. “Nothing more.”

“Will you ever tell me?”

“Perhaps I will make a trade.” Hannibal smiles with his eyes, looking oddly amused. “ _Quid pro quo_ , as it were.”

Will eyes him skeptically. “Something you want to know for something I want to know?”

“Or pain in exchange for pain. I am not unreasonable.”

“You’re nothing but unreasonable.” Will draws him close, arranges Hannibal so his head is resting on his chest. The weight is comforting, even more so when he feels Hannibal relax into it. “I suppose I will have to think of something.”

Hannibal turns his head, kissing Will’s collarbone. “I suppose you will.”


End file.
